Sunday, November 23, 2008

Both The Shack and the new building (which we're actually getting sort of close to moving into—finally!) are heated with wood. There's an inefficient potbellied stove in the living room of The Shack that looks cute and feels wonderful if you're cozied up to it, but it barely heats the other rooms in our poorly built and uninsulated old home.

The new building, on the other hand, has the opposite problem—we bought a massive wood furnace and probably went a little overboard. It's made in Minnesota, and it turns out their idea of 'mild fall weather' is at least 30 degrees colder than ours. But so far it works beautifully, and I'm sure we'll quickly get spoiled by the joys of having central heat. I do love to pile on the quilts and blankets and snuggle up in polarfleece come winter, but I'm pretty sure I won't miss waking up to find a thin layer of ice on the water glass next to my bed.

Since we're used to drafts and both get claustrophobic quickly, we figure that once we're moved into our new double-insulated, draft-free living quarters we'll simply keep a couple of windows cracked open all winter long. This sounds like a perfect plan to me—stay warm and yet still have plenty of fresh air. Kind of like when I used to drive around in a convertible in California with the top down and the heater on.

Because the new plumbing has been hooked up in the new building (yes!), we now have both the little woodstove and the big wood furnace going, which means we're burning a lot of firewood. (The little woodstove is so inefficient it actually uses almost as much wood as the furnace.) We usually cut our own firewood, but lately we've been supplementing with these wood blocks that are scraps from a local mill. We have a dumptruck load delivered at a time, and we're discovering that they're really convenient.

When we gather our own firewood, we either cut down dead trees in the woods on our property, or we cut up trees that have fallen over on their own. Once in a while we'll cut down a live tree if it will make more space for the others around it. It's hard but rewarding work. With these blocks, it's nice knowing that we're making good use of something that's essentially waste. And it's even nicer knowing that we can be a little lazy when it comes to keeping our woodpile stocked—especially when it's 28 degrees outside and snowing.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

This is Mr. Midnight. I adopted him a year ago from the animal shelter, along with Topaz and Sarah Kit Kat Kate. They had named him Whiskers, and he had been living there for eight months. (Sarah Kate had also been there for eight months and Topaz had been there for 15 months.) They couldn't find his paperwork because it was still in the PetSmart file. "You mean he went to PetSmart and nobody wanted to adopt him?" I asked. PetSmart stores have a special area where they allow shelter animals to be brought in for adoption—it's a wonderful program, especially for rural, overcrowded shelters like ours.

"Oh he's been there two or three times." PetSmart is 125 miles away.

"How is that possible? He's gorgeous!"

Now I believe that he was simply waiting for me to find him, but it's no wonder he didn't want to get in the cat carrier. He was skittish and frightened and yet purred almost all the way home. He then proceeded to live in a closet for the next couple of weeks. When we realized he came out at night and prowled around (and that Sarah Kate actually had more impressive whiskers than he does), I renamed him Mr. Midnight. It suits him perfectly.

He is sleek and beautiful and about three and a half feet long. He has a small voice and a big purr and went from being offish to not being able to get him off you. When he's not trying to make himself comfortable on my lap (where he never quite fits) he likes, as you can see, to sprawl.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

If you've never tasted eggs that were laid by lucky chickens allowed to flap and scratch and eat real food, I urge you to you go out and find some as fast as you possibly can—even if they cost $6 a dozen (which is only 50 cents an egg). They're worth it, and you won't believe how wonderful they are. The shells go way past white, too—think deep dark browns, pale blue greens, creamy tans. Gorgeous!

Can't justify the extra expense? Compare it to eating out—or what you'd pay for one coffee drink at Starbucks. And think of the happy hens and hardworking farmers you'd be supporting. Want to get to meet our fine feathered flock? You'll find lots of chick pics here.

Look for farm eggs at your farmers' market or locally owned natural foods store, which is where I used to sell my excess eggs when I had 25 laying hens, and where I now buy eggs to supplement the meager output from our current little (and mostly very aged) flock. You can also search on Local Harvest for everything from eggs to elephant garlic.

Wanna go one foodie step further? Serve your extra special eggs on toasted homemade bread, such as my popular Farmhouse White. So how do you like your eggs?

Monday, November 03, 2008

This is Robin. She hates donkeys. Hates them even more than cows, and she hates cows a lot.

When our wandering herd of five donkeys meanders up by The Shack (which happens at least a couple of times a day), our usually smiling beagle turns all menacing looks and ferocious barks (unless she's curled up indoors in one of her cat beds). This has been going on for years. And when she starts barking, she sets off Bear, who (because he does not hate donkeys) naturally believes there is an actual, non-donkey threat about to jump out of the woods and attack. He gets very excited. Every single time.

Does She Look Pissed or What?

I could never figure Robin out until I read that dogs can smell ten thousand times better than we can. Fifty thousand donkeys in my yard? I suppose I wouldn't be all that happy either.